


A Burden Shared

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drug Use, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a certain scene in The Abominable Bride that highlights Mycroft's love and concern for his brother, despite Sherlock's apparent lack of love and concern for himself.  The Mystrade bit is just shameless self-indulgence</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Burden Shared

Mycroft stared at the filthy alley he’d been discreetly informed would be a good place to look for his brother and sighed heavily.  Sherlock must truly be in dire straits to be seeking shelter in such a tragic place and, predictably, failed in any manner to reach out a hand for help.  Stepping carefully around the rubbish and items only flatteringly-termed rubbish, the older of the Holmes brothers moved through the alley to the little dogleg it took to the right, stopping immediately when he heard voices.  Only one of which he recognized.

      “… and they’ve got beds open, lad.  I already checked.”

      “Go away.”

      “I will, in a moment.  Why don’t you go away with me and I’ll see you settled at the shelter.”

      “You are a supreme waste of tax funds.”

      “Good to be supreme at something.”

      “The citizenry is certainly neither being protected nor served while you huddle here avoiding your appointed duty.”

      “They’ll manage.  Right now, I’m concerned about one particular citizen who could use a warm bed and a good meal.”

      “I am perfectly content without either, thank you very much.”

      “Oh, that’s not true.  Not that you don’t have an admirable nest you’ve created, but…”

      “I have… somewhere I have five pounds.  If I give it to you, will you do as most of your brethren and run away with your bribe to the nearest patisserie and gorge yourself on their wares?”

      “No, but I’ll take you there and see you get something in your stomach besides acid.”

      “Go away.”

      “Come on, lad.  One night you don’t have to be out here in the weather.  It’s not far and they’re nice people who want to help.”

      “Go.  Away.”

The long-suffering sigh was one that was achingly familiar to Mycroft and his heart went out in sympathy to yet another poor soul who was trying to help his brother.

      “Alright, but if I come back with something for you to eat and a jacket or blanket if I can find one, will you accept it?”

      “Why is going away so difficult for you to comprehend?  Are you in hiding?  Probably avoiding a well-deserved chastisement for dereliction of duty.”

      “Will you accept it?”

      “If I do, does that mean you will leave me alone?”

      “For now, yes.  I won’t stop this way again tonight, I promise.”

      “That is a very narrow window of promise.”

      “It’s what I’m offering.  Take it or… have any cards?”

      “I’m in agony… fine!  Yes, I will accept whatever it is you choose to bring me to assuage your sense of societal guilt.”

      “Not guilt, lad.  Just one person trying to help another.  I’ll be off, then, but I’ll be back soon.  Please don’t do anything stupid like running off so I have to spend my night trying to find you?  That'll earn you being dragged by the ear to the shelter and I’m certain that’s not how you’d like this evening to end.”

      “Why would I leave, as you term it, my lovely nest?  I am a contented cockerel and most happy to peck and perch where I am.”

      “Good.  I’ll only be a little while.”

Mycroft was a touch too slow to avoid the figure that sprang around the corner and collided with him, though the figure was sufficiently cordial to reach out and steady him before more than the soles of his shoes was soiled with the detritus littering the ground.

      “Sorry.  Might I ask what you’re doing here, sir?”

      “Collecting my brother.”

Mycroft nodded at the cocked-thumb ‘that one’ gesture the figure, now identified as a police constable, made back to where Sherlock was sitting.

      “Yes.  Is he…”

      “Alright?  Depends on your definition.  I think he’s coming down off of something, but he’s lucid and very much knows his own mind.”

      “Yes, that describes Sherlock quite well.”

      “That’s his name?  He wouldn’t tell me.”

      “He likely worried it would make its way to my ears and disclose his current location.”

      “Runaway?”

      “A bit too old for that to be the proper term, I think, but it is not entirely misplaced.”

      “You’ll… you’ll see him home, right?  See him taken care of?”

      “As best I can.  It will likely be a struggle to convince him to accompany me, but the lure of items in my flat to steal to sell for drugs money usually tips the scale at some point in our conversation.”

      “You’ve done this before.”

      “Yes, I regret to say.”

      “You have my sympathy.  It’s hard on the family, but… it’s good you keep trying.  Too many don’t and it says a lot you haven’t given up on him.”

Mycroft blinked in surprise at the kind words, something completely unique in his experiences with Sherlock.

      “Do you want me to stay and help you talk to him?”

      “Heavens, no.  Sherlock responds most eagerly to an audience and that will simply complicate matters.”

      “I understand that.  He’s a good lad… a smart one, but he does enjoy his bit of drama.”

The tiny smile on the PC’s lips certainly did not ignite something in Mycroft’s chest.  That would be highly improper, especially at this troubling time.  So, why was he returning that smile, using muscles that were exceedingly unused to the action?

      “That he does.  I would thank you, Constable…”

      “Oh!  Lestrade.  Greg Lestrade.”

      “Constable Lestrade.  It is good to know there is a person, besides myself, who has an interest in my brother’s welfare.”

      “I take my job seriously and a person’s circumstances doesn’t affect that.  But… yeah, he might be one of the special ones on my radar.  Might I ask…”

      “Pardon?”

      “He’s Sherlock.  You’re…”

      “Mycroft.  Mycroft Holmes.  In fact…”

Mycroft dug into his coat and retrieved a card that he handed Lestrade with what he hoped was a friendly smile.

      “… since it is entirely likely that Sherlock will return to this area sooner than later, this is where I may be reached.  I would appreciate a call if for no other reason than to know where he is and that he is still… well, that he is still with us.”

      “I will, sir.  I’ll keep an eye on him, don’t worry about that.”

      “Thank you, Constable Lestrade.”

It was with some startling amount of regret that Mycroft watched the PC smile and walk away to continue on with his work.  With luck, however, that would not be the last he would see of the considerate, and strikingly handsome, man.

      “Are you finished with your unseemly and incompetent attempts at flirting?”

Oh yes, the Sherlock situation.

      “I was certainly not flirting.”

      “You were and it was nauseating to hear.”

Stepping around the corner, Mycroft took in the all-too-familiar and disheartening sight of his brother, unkempt, unwashed and ravaged by whatever drugs had taken his fancy today.

      “Much like the stench in this alleyway.  Shall we simply eliminate our exposure to it and find a more fragrant place to converse.”

      “If I leave my resplendent nest, however shall Lestrade find me to deliver his offerings?”

      “I believe the constable will leave that to me.”

      “And what do you offer, Mycroft?  Recriminations, disappointed looks and sighs, duty-driven offers of a bed, preferably in some institution…”

      “I will offer exactly what your new friend set out, if that is to your liking.  A warm bed, a good meal and will raise the stakes with the availability of a hot shower and fresh clothes.”

      “Hmmmm…”

      “If your humming is indicative of a need to exercise your musical talent, I shall further raise the stakes with the opportunity of time with your violin.”

      “You have it?”

      “Do I ever fail to rescue it from whatever pawnbroker or antique shop took it in trade for a hundredth of its value?”

That his brother was actually thinking gave Mycroft the smallest of hopes this would not be as vicious a battle as they normally waged.

      “Very well.  But, if I choose to leave tomorrow, you will do nothing to stop me.”

      “Your life is yours to live, Sherlock, but I will not promise to do everything in my power to convince you to stay.”

A grudging nod was all the response he received, but, for Mycroft, it was if the angelic chorus was singing in his ears.

      “Come then.  The car is waiting.”

      “Let us hope Lestrade did not issue a parking citation.”

      “I am not entirely certain that is his particular concern in the area of policing.”

      “You only care that his particular concern is men and the things men do at night with the lights turned down low.”

      “Balderdash.”

      “Your voice was libidinous.”

      “My voice held its standard timbre.”

      “No, because the rats did not immediately die of boredom.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  For that, I will see that your dinner is a rousing course of liver, followed by a hearty potage of kale and beets.”

      “I hate liver.  I hate kale.  I hate beets.”

      “How unanimous of you.”

Sherlock’s rude noise split the air, and sent spittle Mycroft’s direction, almost spoiling his surprisingly good mood.  A cooperative Sherlock was always something to be celebrated and… well, there was nothing wrong with a bit of harmless fantasy about a certain police constable who appeared to have a strong character as well as a handsome face.  He was one to watch, especially if he was taking an interest in Sherlock.  Reliable sources of information about his brother were very few and far between and this one should be cultivated with some degree of diligence.  That would require conversation, would it not?  Yes, conversation aplenty.  My, my, my… for once, Sherlock may actually have done him a favor…


End file.
